His Majesty, the Beautiful NEURODERMITE
or how perinatal psychology "treats" the skin
My practice in psychosomatics and perinatal processes leads me to voice certain patterns and observations.
Currently, I’m working with many clients experiencing neurodermatitis/atopic dermatitis in counseling and support. There are some distinctive features, and I’ll try to explain here “why on earth perinatal psychology deals with this,” and why people ask, “you’re not a doctor, why are you getting involved?” or “how does a psychologist treat dermatitis?” 😂
Let me be clear right away: I don’t treat dermatitis or neurodermatitis. I don’t treat anyone at all.
Everything that happens in the course of our work is done by the person themselves — because they are powerful, capable, and whole. They just often forget that 😉.
Perinatal psychology — and I, as someone who studies, practices, and represents this field — often deals with perinatal issues in adults.
What does that mean?
What traces do adults carry from the period of life in the womb and the first year after birth?
Many chronic illnesses that originated then — and that we’re still trying to treat — many psychosomatic conditions, all reproductive issues, everything related to relationships (yes, we begin learning how to build relationships already back then!), and more.
Neurodermatitis, atopic dermatitis, “diathesis” that appeared in early childhood are directly related to perinatal psychology.
Currently, I’m working with many clients experiencing neurodermatitis/atopic dermatitis in counseling and support. There are some distinctive features, and I’ll try to explain here “why on earth perinatal psychology deals with this,” and why people ask, “you’re not a doctor, why are you getting involved?” or “how does a psychologist treat dermatitis?” 😂
Let me be clear right away: I don’t treat dermatitis or neurodermatitis. I don’t treat anyone at all.
Everything that happens in the course of our work is done by the person themselves — because they are powerful, capable, and whole. They just often forget that 😉.
Perinatal psychology — and I, as someone who studies, practices, and represents this field — often deals with perinatal issues in adults.
What does that mean?
What traces do adults carry from the period of life in the womb and the first year after birth?
Many chronic illnesses that originated then — and that we’re still trying to treat — many psychosomatic conditions, all reproductive issues, everything related to relationships (yes, we begin learning how to build relationships already back then!), and more.
Neurodermatitis, atopic dermatitis, “diathesis” that appeared in early childhood are directly related to perinatal psychology.
So, we’ve noticed that:
— Many people developed skin rashes before the age of one. “My mom said it started at birth,” “I’ve been treated for this my whole life.” That age falls into the perinatal period of human development — which means, these are “our people”;
— These are people whose boundaries were and are violated. I won’t go into how far back this history might go, but in general — this is our area of work;
— These are people whose relationships with their mothers are marked by two dominant affects: resentment and guilt — the affects of vindictiveness. We’ve observed that these individuals carry a lot of guilt or resentment in relation to their mothers. In fact, it’s often the carefully cultivated guilt from parents that prevents them from building a life of their own;
— These people tend to be emotionally dependent;
— Role reversal is often present in the relationship with their parents — they take on the parental role and end up “parenting” their emotionally immature mother or father;
— These individuals struggle with loss and separation;
— Physical closeness with their parents was lacking — there were few hugs or touches. It’s as if their skin was “starved.” In adult life, they often choose a tactile partner — someone who loves touch and wants to share it;
— These children were often treated for their skin issues for a long time. That treatment — the creams, the ointments, the care — was often their only way of receiving physical touch. As adults, they often struggle to know when something hurts too much or needs to stop. They tolerate a lot. They stay silent. They can have a hard time understanding how someone truly feels about them — is it love, or is it harm?;
— These people were forced to conform to strict parental norms and rules. They either never went through a teenage rebellion, or they were “good” teens;
— Their whole life is a journey of overcoming perinatal deprivation — a lack of something essential — and they fight for happiness in many ways.
They are heroes ❤
— Many people developed skin rashes before the age of one. “My mom said it started at birth,” “I’ve been treated for this my whole life.” That age falls into the perinatal period of human development — which means, these are “our people”;
— These are people whose boundaries were and are violated. I won’t go into how far back this history might go, but in general — this is our area of work;
— These are people whose relationships with their mothers are marked by two dominant affects: resentment and guilt — the affects of vindictiveness. We’ve observed that these individuals carry a lot of guilt or resentment in relation to their mothers. In fact, it’s often the carefully cultivated guilt from parents that prevents them from building a life of their own;
— These people tend to be emotionally dependent;
— Role reversal is often present in the relationship with their parents — they take on the parental role and end up “parenting” their emotionally immature mother or father;
— These individuals struggle with loss and separation;
— Physical closeness with their parents was lacking — there were few hugs or touches. It’s as if their skin was “starved.” In adult life, they often choose a tactile partner — someone who loves touch and wants to share it;
— These children were often treated for their skin issues for a long time. That treatment — the creams, the ointments, the care — was often their only way of receiving physical touch. As adults, they often struggle to know when something hurts too much or needs to stop. They tolerate a lot. They stay silent. They can have a hard time understanding how someone truly feels about them — is it love, or is it harm?;
— These people were forced to conform to strict parental norms and rules. They either never went through a teenage rebellion, or they were “good” teens;
— Their whole life is a journey of overcoming perinatal deprivation — a lack of something essential — and they fight for happiness in many ways.
They are heroes ❤
My clients, my heroes, sometimes compare their skin to parched earth — dry, cracked, depleted, flaking, stripped of moisture and nourishment. Their patches are dry.
Other times, they compare their skin to a tree with wounded bark, from which resin seeps out. Their skin is weeping, exuding fluid.
In the therapeutic process, a lot of time can be spent shifting focus from the deeply rooted, childhood-instilled mindset of “fighting the disease” — toward understanding neurodermatitis as an adaptive response to the environment or situation in which the child was raised.
But what kind of situation could that be?
What kind of situation can a baby even have?
Does the mother not love them?
Hit them?
Hurt them?
Of course not!
She loves and cares as best she can, trying with all her might to do everything for her child.
But there’s one catch: she’s doing it all for her own inner child — not the one lying in front of her.
She is anxious. Very anxious.
Her anxiety is so overwhelming that she physically cannot be in real contact with the child. She’s unable to express empathy; all her energy is consumed by anxiety and the battle against it.
She can’t fully enter motherhood or tune into the child’s needs — she feels constantly uneasy, unsafe.
She always needs to be doing something — treating the child, applying creams, going from doctor to doctor — that too will do.
Because it distracts. It shifts focus.
The key is not to be left alone with her anxiety.
So, we arrive at the idea that between mother and child there is neurodermatitis.
It “rules” and defines their interaction, their relationship.
It is needed. It is essential.
It is not an illness — it is an adaptive response:
— a bodily one, for the child;
— and for the mother, a way to manage anxiety.
What might emerge — new and even more confusing — if the “disease” were removed or defeated?
A more sophisticated form of adaptation would appear.
So, should we really try to defeat adaptation?
Our approach is to explore everything that surrounds it — mechanisms and interconnections. To thoroughly understand how it works for that specific person, and to look for ways to compensate.
Is it difficult? Absolutely.
Time-consuming? That depends…
But in any case, it’s important to understand that what we do in counseling is complex.
It requires courage, resources, and most of all — good, healing contact and closeness.
Other times, they compare their skin to a tree with wounded bark, from which resin seeps out. Their skin is weeping, exuding fluid.
In the therapeutic process, a lot of time can be spent shifting focus from the deeply rooted, childhood-instilled mindset of “fighting the disease” — toward understanding neurodermatitis as an adaptive response to the environment or situation in which the child was raised.
But what kind of situation could that be?
What kind of situation can a baby even have?
Does the mother not love them?
Hit them?
Hurt them?
Of course not!
She loves and cares as best she can, trying with all her might to do everything for her child.
But there’s one catch: she’s doing it all for her own inner child — not the one lying in front of her.
She is anxious. Very anxious.
Her anxiety is so overwhelming that she physically cannot be in real contact with the child. She’s unable to express empathy; all her energy is consumed by anxiety and the battle against it.
She can’t fully enter motherhood or tune into the child’s needs — she feels constantly uneasy, unsafe.
She always needs to be doing something — treating the child, applying creams, going from doctor to doctor — that too will do.
Because it distracts. It shifts focus.
The key is not to be left alone with her anxiety.
So, we arrive at the idea that between mother and child there is neurodermatitis.
It “rules” and defines their interaction, their relationship.
It is needed. It is essential.
It is not an illness — it is an adaptive response:
— a bodily one, for the child;
— and for the mother, a way to manage anxiety.
What might emerge — new and even more confusing — if the “disease” were removed or defeated?
A more sophisticated form of adaptation would appear.
So, should we really try to defeat adaptation?
Our approach is to explore everything that surrounds it — mechanisms and interconnections. To thoroughly understand how it works for that specific person, and to look for ways to compensate.
Is it difficult? Absolutely.
Time-consuming? That depends…
But in any case, it’s important to understand that what we do in counseling is complex.
It requires courage, resources, and most of all — good, healing contact and closeness.
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Email: votiakovasvetlana@gmail.com